…That rhymes with ‘P’ and that stands for…
Pool.
OmegaDad discovered an online quick-fire pool game the other day. As a result, he and I have, at varying times, been found in front of the computer at odd hours, trying to beat the clock shooting virtual pool.
Step with me back to the days of yesteryear.
When I met OmegaDad, back in the mists of time in Los Alamos, we spent a lot of time hanging around Ashley’s Pub with the kids. As we were, at 34 and 29, the oldest of the group–the rest were all dewy-eyed fresh-faced college kiddies–and we were wildly in love, we spent all our time together there. We’d all drink beer and shots and mixed drinks of varying foofiness, eat burgers and chips from the restaurant, and crowd into the pool room, shooting pool.
OmegaDad was short and scrawny and wiry and lean, with a tight little ass, a lop-sided chin, a blonde mustache, and below-the-ear wavy blonde hair that was whitened by the sun.
He was hawt, guys. Oh so hawt.
And he could play pool. Dayum, could he play pool.
He’d swagger around the pool table with a cocky little strut, glance around, and suddenly lean over the table, cue in hand, pop off a shot with arrogant ease, and sink that puppy into the pocket while he was turning around and laughing at something someone else was saying. He always seemed to vibrate, like a plucked violin string, sizzling and fizzing with life and zest and interest.
It was a mighty fine sight to see.
I hadn’t played much pool prior to our getting together, but so much of our time was spent there that I soon was enjoying myself greatly. Let’s not mention that, since he was ostensibly “teaching” me to play pool, I often found myself wrapped in his arms as we leaned over the table edge, his head next to mine, his mustache tickling my ear, his hand on mine, guiding the pool cue…
Um.
Excuse me, is it getting warm in here?
Anyway, this cute little computer time waster has brought some memories rushing to the forefront. These days, we don’t play pool; we haven’t been to a bar or pool parlor in umpty-ump years, and we’re staid old married folk. But when he sits down at the computer to play him some pool, he’s still got that nonchalant ease. I struggle to get an accuracy rating of greater than 50%; he regularly hovers around 83%. I have managed to get a score up to around 3,500; he has managed to get a score up around 12,000.
What can I say? The boy obviously has pool in his blood.
